Cards

Free formed words created instead of letting go.
Rejection is this palatable sourness in my mouth.
It rolls up my throat and traps all of what I want to say.

Oh how I wish these thoughts would fade away.
Rejection-
Not good enough.
No one would ever like you.
No, you are ugly.

All float in my head.
They are rotting water
full of diseased flesh.

The remnants of memories covered
by ill formed scars.
Rub the wound just a bit
the blood is foul
and smells of death.

Still it will not heal.
Rejection is a noose around my neck.
Choking me; I am four years old again.
Only ugly girls have this happen to them.

Shhh...
I cannot begin to explain the confusion I am standing in.
The house of cards is not cards
but mirrors that reflect a thousand faces and none of them are mine.
Who am I?
When did I disappear?